Sadly, with the exception of two Hollywood Bowl appearances in 1947-48 and a recital at the Royal Albert Hall in 1958, none of Mario Lanza's more than 150 concerts and recitals was recorded in its entirety. Even more frustratingly, neither Lanza's operatic debut at Tanglewood in 1942 nor his two Pinkertons for the New Orleans Opera Association in 1948 was captured for posterity. 

What we do have on tape, however, is a tantalizing glimpse of Lanza the performing artist near the beginning of his career (1947-49) and towards the end (1957-58). (See A List of Existing Live Recordings of Mario Lanza for complete details.)

Lanza was just 19 when he recorded this one-verse rendition of the Neapolitan song 'Pecchè?' as a present for his father's 46th birthday. One of the earliest authenticated recordings we have of the tenor, allowances should be made for the primitive sound quality and (more importantly) for the fact that Lanza had had virtually no vocal training at this point. But while his youthful vibrato is fast here and his upper register unsupported, the distinctive and beautiful timbre is already evident, as is his commitment to the words.     

In 1944, the then 23-year-old Lanza was in Los Angeles on leave from the Army Air Force when he recorded a number of arias for his friend and mentor Maria Margelli. One of these was a snippet—possibly from a now-forgotten verismo opera—of an aria that no one has so far been able to identify. Brief though this elusive snippet is, however, it offers startling proof that even at this early stage in his vocal development, Lanza was producing, as Armando Cesari observes, an “amazingly dark, rich and even [sound].”

This concert was a turning point in Lanza’s career (ultimately changing the course of his life), for it was on the strength of his performance that evening that MGM mogul Louis B. Mayer, who was in the audience, signed the 26-year-old tenor to a long-term movie contract. Listening to this outstanding rendition of the difficult ‘Parigi, O Cara,’ one can readily imagine the impact of Lanza’s singing here on the opera-loving Mayer. Performing here with soprano Frances Yeend (with whom, along with bass-baritone George London, he had recently formed the Bel Canto Trio), Lanza is in ravishing vocal form, effortlessly negotiating the tricky mezza voce and diminuendo.

Lanza began many of his concerts and recitals with the Lamento di Federico, and this 1948 performance from an appearance in Toronto was no exception. Arguably his finest rendition of Cilea's lovely aria, it’s also his most restrained version—a controlled and musical performance with some hauntingly beautiful touches, particularly in the exquisite opening lines. As always, Lanza sings the interpolated high B natural that his idol Gigli had introduced many years earlier. (Read more about Lanza’s various versions of the Lamento di Federico on our forum.)

This vocal tour de force is from Lanza’s third and final appearance at the Hollywood Bowl. Singing with great sensitivity and beauty of tone in this duet with coloratura soprano Mary Jane Smith, Lanza makes a suave and convincing Duke. He ends the duet on a high D flat—his highest recorded note (and one that is no less thrilling for being slightly off-key).

 Listen to Lanza amusing himself as he tests a new microphone, singing octave leaps and scaling baritonal depths to the delight of his four-year-daughter Colleen.

Lanza was always interested in lesser-known operas, and at one stage intended to record an album of “forgotten” arias by composers such as Cilea, Leoncavallo, Mascagni, and Giordano. Here he is rehearsing an extract with his accompanist Constantine Callinicos from the aria ‘Questa Bocca Tua, Profumata e Pura’ from Giordano’s now-obscure 1915 opera Madame Sans-Gêne. At the end of this powerful rendition, Lanza says with stunning understatement, "I didn't hold back."

As the critic James Miller once observed in Fanfare, Lanza would have been a superb Chénier, and it was one of the roles that the tenor most wanted to perform on stage. This 1952 home recording of the passionate Improvviso—complete with Lanza’s entertaining pre-aria banter and warm-up—reinforces the sense that he was born to play the part of the romantic poet. The placement of the voice here, with its rich, focused spinto sound and ringing upper register, coupled with excellent diction and an unwavering commitment to the words, make it one of Lanza’s finest operatic recordings. As the eminent musicologist Bill Park wrote in 2004, it is "a magnificent rendering of the aria . . . certainly to be ranked with the best."

This rarely heard performance is by no means Lanza’s most “correct” version of one of his favorite arias—either vocally or musically—but it is one of his most emotional renditions.  And understandably so, for the occasion was a Royal Variety Performance in front of Queen Elizabeth II (and other members of the British Royal Family) after a six-and-a-half year absence from the concert stage. Pale and visibly shaking before he walked on to the stage, Lanza nevertheless managed to control his nerves sufficiently to deliver a passionate performance that delighted his upper-crust audience.